Euphemia (ON HIATUS)
by WasteOfMyTime
Summary: Orphaned at the age of 12, Euphemia survives on the streets of London, as a pickpocket. Years later, she has a chance encounter with a certain mortician with silver hair. This is my first fanfic, so reviews are appreciated, let me know if you enjoy reading this fic, so I'll know to continue it.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is my first fanfic, so, constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. If you think I should continue this story, I'll consider it, otherwise this will be a one-shot.**

 **I do not own Kuroshitsuji, or any of it's characters. Kuroshitsuji is property of Yana Toboso. The only thing I own, is my OC Euphemia.**

 **BTW: The italicized quotations are my OC's personal thoughts; they aren't said aloud.**

* * *

My name is Euphemia, and I am seventeen years old. I have curly, ginger-coloured hair, and I am of an average height, but I look taller because I am rather thin. I live in London, and lately, there has been a string of gruesome murders occurring in the area. A number of women, particularly prostitutes, have been found horrifically butchered, or so I've heard. Thank providence I am not one of them.

Though, I could easily have ended up as one of them, had I not turned to the calling of petty thievery. I currently reside on the streets of London, I am a rather good pickpocket, though, lately I haven't had much luck, as the townsfolk have been increasingly avoiding being out in the streets, due to the recent uptick in murders, but I'm not scared, I have better things to worry myself with, like finding something to eat. I haven't eaten in a week, and I am absolutely famished. I would do nearly anything for even a piece of stale bread.

I wander aimlessly through the streets for hours, and I find myself in a very dark alleyway. I notice that it is nearly dusk, from the sliver of dreary, polluted sky that I can see, high above the eaves of the dirty buildings. I won't be able to get back to the place I usually set up camp for the night. I see a few broken crates piled up beside a building, and decide to sleep there for the night. After a little while, I have managed to create a haphazard lean-to sort of structure, to shelter me from the elements, namely rain, as there more than likely be one of London s downpours tonight.

By now, the sky is a murky dark-grey colour, so I decide to try and get some sleep. I crawl into my crate-structure, and try to get as comfortable as I can, but I have no blanket to cushion me, and my slim, bony hips will surely have a bruise from laying on the hard, uneven surface. But I am simply too exhausted to care, so I do my best to ignore my discomfort, and drift into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

No...NO...STAY AWAY...STOP!  
*BANG*

* * *

I am startled awake by the sound of a woman screaming, and a gun being fired. The sounds came from nearby. _Very_ nearby. And since I do in fact value my life, I decide that it was indeed a mistake to sleep in this alleyway tonight. So, I, as silently as I can, crawl out of my little lean-to, and slink my way out of the alley, out into the street. As soon as I am out of the alley, I make a mad dash through the streets, as to get away from there as fast as my weary body can manage.

I must not have been paying much attention to where I was going, because I run into, and I mean literally run into, a large, darkly shrouded figure, making its way down the street. I run into the person with such force, that I knock both of us to the cobblestone with a noticeable thud.

The dark-cloaked person grunts and mumbles a few choice words before they notice me. "My my, you are in quite the hurry, now aren't you?" Says the mystery man. "You really should pay better attention to where you re going, Miss. What on earth has you running so hastily?"

I hear thunder rumble in the distance. _"Damn, I m going to have to find shelter before it starts raining."_ The dark-cloaked man gets to his feet and dusts off his robes. His attire is rather peculiar, he wears a long, black coat, with a grey sash tied over one shoulder. On his head, askew, sits a tall black hat with a long fabric tail, trailing from the top. He has very long, silvery hair, with bangs covering the top half of his face, parted slightly, over his nose. I notice a single, thin braid mixed into the length of his silver hair.

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry sir, I should have looked where I was going." I manage to squeak out. _"I really must be out of sorts, I'm usually far more observant. This hunger must really be doing a number on me." I think to myself._

"What is a young lady, such as yourself, doing out so late at night in this part of the city? You must know it isn't safe to be out at this hour." The man says this with a wide and creepy grin.

"I was in an alley, when I heard a gunshot go off near me, so I decided to make a run for it, and then I ran into you."

"Ah, I see." He said. "Well, my dear, might I ask what your name is?"

"Oh, sorry, my is Euphemia."

"Euphemia, eh? That's a mighty fancy name for a girl livin' on the streets."

"It is simply the name my mother gave me, sir."

"Its a lovely name, it means 'well-spoken', does it not?"

"Yes sir, it does mean that." I reply meekly. "If you don't mind me asking, sir, what is your name?"

"Most people call me Undertaker." He says, with a singsong lilt.

"Undertaker? As in a mortician?" _"What a curious name." I think. "Surely that isn't his given name."_

"Yes dearie, I am indeed a mortician, one of the finest in England, if I do say so myself." He says with a chuckle.

I hear more thunder, and it sounds like it's getting closer. The wind is starting to pick up as well.

"Well, it looks like we're in for a right downpour, Miss Euphemia. Why don't we get down to my shop before either of us are caught up in this impending storm, eh?"

The wind was starting to howl, and fat raindrops were starting to pelt the top of my head. "Alright, Mr. Undertaker, if it's not too much trouble." I hear a hungry, grumbling noise come from my stomach, and my cheeks flush in embarrassment. The strange mortician giggles at the sound, and we start walking in the direction of his funeral parlour.

"Oh, it's no trouble at all. I haven't had any living guests in a long while," He says this with a grin plastered on his face. "and you don't have anywhere else to go, now do you?" I shake my head, no, and then he says, "Why don't I fix us somethin' to eat, you look like you're absolutely starved, my dear girl."

* * *

When we finally make it to Mr. Undertaker's funeral parlour, both of us are positively drenched from walking in the rain. He unlocks the front door, and ushers me inside. I am greeted with the sight of a very, very dusty room. The room's floor is littered with coffins of all sizes and colours, some coffins are even standing upright against the walls. There is a noticeably thick layer of dust on nearly everything, but the coffins, I notice, are polished to perfection. _"I can see where His priorities lie. This place needs a good cleaning, that's for sure." I muse._

"Now, my dear, I suppose we ought to get you out of those sopping wet clothes of yours. You're leaving a puddle of rainwater on my floor." He says, with a chuckle. I must have had a peculiar expression on my face, because he promptly bursts out in a fit of giggles. "Don't worry dear, I'll fetch you some dry clothes to change into." I nod hesitantly, and he disappears into the back room, only to return moments later with a towel and a stack of folded clothing. He hands me the blanket and clothing, and says, "I hope these fit you, you can get changed in here, while I fix us somethin' to eat in the kitchen." He then vanishes into the back room once again, leaving me alone in the room with all of the coffins.

I set the stack of clothing on a nearby coffin, hoping there isn't a body inside. I unfold the clothing, revealing an off-white blouse, a chemise, pantaloons, a corset, a pair of stockings, and a long, burgundy plaid skirt. I peel off my soaked clothing and drop it into a tin pail nearby, then I proceed to dry off with the provided towel. I then put on the stockings, proceeded by the pantaloons and chemise. Next to be put on is the corset, which I struggle with for a few minuets, finally getting it tightened and tied to my satisfaction. After that, I put on, and button up the blouse and skirt. I sigh, _"I haven't worn anything this nice in a long time." I muse to myself._

With seemingly perfect timing, Mr. Undertaker walks back into the front room, and says, "Dinner's ready, my dear." with a grin, he adds, "If you would follow me to the kitchen."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: This is my first fanfic, so, constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated.  
**

 **Shout-outs to: , Amberallentx, Fiane-Mia, icecreamlover1, and ReaperOfLostSouls. Thanks for following my story, guys!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji, or any of it's characters. Kuroshitsuji is property of Yana Toboso. The only thing I own, is my OC Euphemia.**

 **BTW: The italicized quotations are my OC's personal thoughts; they aren't said aloud.**

* * *

I followed Mr. Undertaker out of the front room, and behind the curtain that separated the shop from his personal dwelling. Noticing along the way, that beyond the curtain that concealed his living quarters from view, there was an equal amount, if not _more_ dust and cobwebs adorning every surface, nook, and cranny that I could see. But, not wanting to jinx my luck by saying anything about the grime, I said nothing about it. I wasn't about to throw away my chance of getting a hot meal by being rude, regardless of the circumstances.

I was guided to the kitchen, where he pulled out a chair at the table for me and ushered me to sit while he served the food.

"I do hope you don't mind what I've prepared." He said whilst tending to the pot on the wood stove. "Soup was all I could make, tonight. And since you've not eaten in a while, its best you don't eat somethin' too heavy, else you might make yourself sick." He took two beakers from a cupboard and set them on the kitchen table, one for me, and one for him. _"It seems as though he uses beakers for cups, how clever."_ He then went to the icebox and pulled out a bottle of milk, and poured some into each of the two beakers on the table.

"I'm terribly grateful for the food. I'd be happy eating nearly anything, at this point." I replied as he served the soup into two bowls, and set one in front on me. Setting the other at his place at the table, then sitting down.

I said a silent prayer before grabbing my spoon to eat. I dipped my spoon into my bowl of soup, and then brought it to my mouth. I blew on the spoonful of soup to cool it, and then finally gave it a taste. It had to be some of the best soup I had ever tasted, though, that reaction may be due to the fact that I hadn't eaten a decent meal in a long while. Regardless, the food was great, and the expression on my face must have given that away, as Mr. Undertaker seemed to have noticed, because he then said, "I take it you like the soup, m'lady?" I nodded in reply, and took a sip from my glass -well, _beaker_ \- of milk, and continued eating my soup.

We ate the rest of the meal in not-unpleasant silence.

* * *

I offered to wash the dishes after we finished the meal, but Mr. Undertaker insisted that he be the one to wash them, as I was the guest. So, I sat at the kitchen table and looked around at my surroundings.

There weren't electric lights in the kitchen, or for that matter, any in the front where the shop was, either. Instead, there were oil lamps and candles. There was an oil lamp hanging from a hook in the ceiling, casting a warm glow over everything in the kitchen. Despite there not seeming to be any electricity, there _was_ , in fact, running water. The floor was wooden, and creaked in places.

After getting bored of looking around the kitchen, I decided to observe the silver-haired mortician. At a glance, one might assume him to be an old man, judging by the silver hair, but by looking more intently, I noticed that his face -what little of it I could see- appeared to be rather youthful, and not old at all. At most, he appeared to be around the age of thirty or so.

I also noticed that he had a few noticeable scars; one circling his left pinkie finger, one wrapping around his throat, and one on his face, starting on the right side of his face, crossing over the bridge of his nose, and disappearing under his fringe. _"Gosh, what in the world happened to him to cause such scars?"_ I suppose I had been engrossed in his appearance for a while, because he turned slightly from his spot at the kitchen sink, he had a toothy ear-to-ear grin nearly splitting his face in two, as he said:

"Like what you see~ m'dear? Hee hee heee~~"

"Oh!"I gasped. Darn! He caught me staring at him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare." My cheeks turned pink with embarrassment, and since I am quite pale, my blush was surely noticed.

"Hee hee heee~ Whatever you say Miss Euphemia~" He snickered.

"I'm being honest!" I exclaimed, a little too loudly. "I was just observing you, is all. You seem to be rather interesting, I find."

"Is that so?~" He crooned. "And what about me do you find so very interesting, might I ask?" He questioned me, with an eerie smile on his face.

"Well, your hair, for one, interests me. The colour of it, I mean. Its silver, one would think such a hair colour would belong to an elderly person, but you don't look that old to me." I explained.

"Are you so sure about that? Looks can be deceiving, my dear girl. Hee hee heee~~"

"I suppose you could be right. Anyways, why are you so cheerful and giggly? Being a mortician seems to be such a grim profession, is it not?" Whatever I said must have tickled his funny bone, because as soon as I finished speaking, he proceeded to chuckle and guffaw into his oversized sleeves. His amusement soon turned into him laughing and drooling, while holding his stomach.

His manic laughter was beginning to concern me, but just as I was about to say something, I was cut off by him instead.

"Ahee~ hee heee~~ Grim~ Ahaa haa~ Profession~~ Oh, Miss Euphemia, ahaa~haa haa~ you're a riot, you are." He continued to laugh, but eventually it died down to broken giggles. I found myself giggling a bit as well, though, my giggles were of the nervous variety.

"Ahee hee~ I think I might just keep you, little miss. Hee heee~"

"...Keep...me? What do you mean by _that_?"

"I mean exactly what I said. Keep you." He sniggered into his sleeve.

"I'm afraid I do not quite understand what you are getting at, Mr Undertaker. Could you please explain?" I was terribly confused at what he said, what on earth does he mean by _keep me_?

"Oh, my dear girl, I meant you could stay here, of course."

"I could stay here? But I have no money to pay you."

"Don't you worry 'bout that, m'dear. Hmm... Are you very squeamish, Euphemia?"

"Squeamish? No, not really. I've seen some pretty gory stuff in the past, and it doesn't bother me very much. Why do you ask?"

"Well, if you'd like to, I could take you on as my apprentice. You could earn your keep as my assistant."

" _Well, its either be his apprentice and assistant, or back to the gutter for me." I thought to myself. "I never thought of working in the funerary business before, but this offer is too good to pass up."_ After weighing the options in my mind, I came to a conclusion, and said: "I would be honored if you would have me be your apprentice, Mr. Undertaker. And I'd be glad to be your assistant."

"Wonderful, m'dear, but you can drop the formalities, just call me Undertaker from now on, no need for the whole _Mister_ part, alrighty?" He said this with a beaming grin on his face. "Its getting quite late, and you must be tired, correct?" He asked. I nodded yes. "Then follow me upstairs, you can use the bedroom, as I prefer to sleep in a coffin."

"You sleep in a coffin?" I asked. _"How macabre." I thought._

"Yes, I find my preferred coffin to be much cozier than a bed." He explained, as we ascended the stairs. "Here's the bedroom, and the next door down the hall is the bathroom. I will go fetch you some nightclothes, I'll be not but a moment, m'dear." And with that, he disappeared back downstairs, leaving me in the hall outside the bedroom.

I realized, as a shiver ran down my spine, that the clothes he gave to me earlier, may very well have once belonged to a corpse in the past. But I pushed that thought out of my head as Undertaker reappeared at the top of the stairs, holding a folded nightgown in his hands.

"This should suffice, for tonight." He said, holding out the nightgown for me to take, which I gladly accepted. "I'll take you out tomorrow to get you some clothes of your own, and don't worry about paying me back, that's why you'll be working as my assistant."

"Thank-you, Undertaker. I'll be looking forward to tomorrow, for sure." I said with a faint smile.

"Well, m'dear, I have some "guests" to work on, in the morgue. I shall bid you good-night." He turned and made his way back downstairs.

"Good-night, Undertaker." I replied. I walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind me.


End file.
